


Sherlock Unlocked

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, M/M, Red Pants, Very OOC, so fluffy you'll get cavities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small peeks into the life of flatmates Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Asshole and John Watson, The Tea-Loving Blogger/Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a mash of drabbles, super fluffy and very ooc for both John and Sherlock. I may have a thing for Naked!Sherlock and Flustered!John.

**Sherlock, what’s in your mouth?**

“Sherlock, _what is that in your mouth?_ ”

“Nnnnnum.”

“ _What?_ ”

There was a soft smack of tongue, unsticking itself from the colorful wad of the chewy stuff, as Sherlock struggled to reply.

“Gum, Watson. Spearmint, to be precise. Five sticks of it, too. They run out of flavor surprisingly fast. Maybe I should run an experiment to created gum with longer lasting flavor…”

His right cheek was bulging with a giant lump of the pale green sweet, and his voice was oddly contorted, as was his face. He looked like a demented chipmunk, noted John, and he couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight.

“Sherlock, you should see your _face_!”

John could hardly breathe. Sherlock’s brows were drawn, a confused wrinkle atop his nose, and he looked, for all the world, like a child who just _didn’t understand what was going on_.

 

**Sherlock, you need your clothes.**

It was one of those rare nights that Sherlock actually slept in his own bed, instead of drooping over the sofa, or tucked in bed with John. He liked to sleep without clothes on (hey, a Scandal in Belgravia- Sherlock naked, and holding a blanket around himself), and since he was in his own room, he was as bare as the day he was born.

The tall man blinked awake, blinded and disoriented in the bright afternoon sun, streaming in through the window, creating an evil rectangle of light on Sherlock’s face. _Wake up, puny mortal- I won’t let you sleep- wake up!_ It rang in his sleepy head, cackling madly.

He sure as heck couldn’t go back to sleep.

 *********

The ex-army medic was preparing his (and Sherlock’s) morning cups of tea (well, afternoon for him, morning for Sherlock). John was tired after last night’s wild chase through the darkened alleyways of the midnight city, hounding the killer who was behind the several odd deaths this past week. Sherlock hadn’t slept for a full six days, instead staying awake on coffee and nothing else, intent on capturing the killer. It was easy forcing the detective into bed, after such a long time going without rest. He could hear a soft shuffling noise behind him, and turned, gazing into the steam wafting up from his tea.

“Ah, Sherlock, nice of you to join me. You slept for sixteen hours, did you know that? You should really sleep more during cases- just a few couple hour naps would-”

He stopped talking, as his eyes landed on a drowsy Sherlock, taking in the sight of the unclothed man in all his naked glory, who was unaware of his current state and was currently rubbing his half-lidded eyes with a fist.

A dressing gown flew across the room and landed neatly over Sherlock’s head, covering his torso and his waist, and a pajama-clad John stalked out of the room, speechless and sporting a pair of bright red ears.

Sherlock grinned under the cloth.

 

**I don’t understand, John.**

“-and they call themselves detectives, for goodness sakes! Didn’t even notice the blood under the nails or the missing earring in her mouth-so simple- textbook, really.”

Sherlock’s long fingers, gleaming dully in the orange glow of the fire, pulled at the bow, tugging random notes held sustained in the comfortable room from his beloved violin.

“Sherlock, you’re doing it again.”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed. How long was it this time?”

“Not that long- only a couple hours since the first half of your sentence. Frankly, I don’t get how you fall into these deep trances all the time.”

A soft clicking and rustling came from where John was sitting. Curious, he lifted his previously closed eyes to the doctor. He blinked in surprise. John was _knitting._

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“You’re _knitting.”_

“Glad to see your powers of observation haven’t dulled, Sherlock. A man _can_ knit, you know. It’s just not common. Besides, I need a scarf. It’s getting cold.”

Sherlock stared at the thick, graceful fingers, sliding and tucking the strands of yarn over the wooden sticks, slowly adding another line of loops to the dark blue scarf.

“Want to learn?” John held the thing in his hands, slightly toward the observer.

***************

“I GIVE UP! I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS, JOHN!”

Sherlock had been fumbling with the stuff for the better part of an hour, and John’s patient instructions weren’t making sense. The sudden bellow made John startle, his warm fingers jerking over his student’s, trying to get them in the right position. But as much as Sherlock enjoyed the comfortable heaviness of his hands, he couldn’t stand being so useless. John grinned, and moved to his own seat, and continued to work on the scarf.

Sherlock followed him with his eyes, content to watch.  He didn’t notice the thick bundle of knots encircling his fingers until several minutes had passed.

“Jaaawn…my hands are tied.”

 

**John, you look cold.**

The two had been standing at the scene for two hours, much longer than expected, and John was shivering in his oatmeal jumper, while Sherlock was pacing around the corpse, warm in his ever- present scarf, leather gloves, and long black coat.

“Do you see this, John? Most interesting, the way the victim is lying- as if holding something- but what? What do you think, John?”

He turned to the shorter man, and immediately noticed his shaking friend.

Sherlock swiftly unbuttoned his coat, and moved to drape the left side over John, ignoring the stares of Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson.

“You looked cold.”

 

**This is how you do it, John.**

John grumbled unintelligibly from his position in front of Sherlock, his chin _ached_ , and his shoulders were getting tired. He said so to Sherlock, and the taller man simply laughed and said this was revenge for teaching him (or trying to) how to knit.

“Alright, Sherlock. I give up. Learning to play the violin is simply impossible.”

“Like this, John.”

He curled his thin fingers around John’s hand, and the other hand rested on the violin, pressing the doctor’s digits to the strings. A swift pull on the bow and a note hung in the air, trembling like the million flecks of dust dancing in the window’s light. His chest was pressed to John’s back and shoulders and he could _feel_ the sharp intake of breath as the doctor inhaled.

John laughed weakly, and let go, stumbling over a muttered excuse about having to call Harry as he left the room.

Sherlock smiled serenely, and started to play.

 

**Sherlock, don’t- don’t do that.**

Sherlock was pouting, _pouting_ adorably, while one hand was held toward John. His pink lower lip was thrust out, ladylike in its delicacy.

Damn, he had this down to an _art._

“Pleeeease, John? Pleeeease?”

John sighed and pressed one of his precious, _expensive_ chocolates into the waiting palm, wincing as it was deposited unceremoniously into an open mouth.

 

 


	2. Rubber Duckies and Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RUBBER DUCKIES!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE NAKEDNESS MEHEHEHEHEH

**Rubber duckie…**

John could hear a sloshing coming from the bathroom. Sherlock had been in there for an hour already, and he was getting curious as to what, exactly, he was doing. He decided to take a peek (whoa, John! You pervert!)- _shut up_ he said to himself, and pushed the door open, sticking his head in.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

He _really_ wasn’t prepared for this.

Oh god, was that a _rubber duckie?!_

He could see a soggy mop of dark brown hair, no longer curly, and plastered to Sherlock’s skull. The detective was seated in the bathtub (which was filled with lemon scented bubbles), playing with a bright yellow rubber duck. A rubber duck that had a little rubber pirate hat and a little pirate eye patch.

Sherlock twisted around at the choking John, who was trying _really hard_ to stop laughing.

“ _Jeez, Sherlock_ , is that a rubber duck? What’s his name?”

John managed to gasp this out with some difficulty, and left the bathroom, cackling madly.

He didn’t hear Sherlock’s low mumble.

“He’s Squeakers, okay? And he’s the scourge of the seven seas, so don’t insult him...”

 

**You’re the dancing queen, Sherlock…**

John sniggered to himself. He had managed to drag Sherlock to the pub, and after a couple sips, got the younger man well and truly drunk. Well, maybe not completely drunk, but just rather tipsy. He was a good friend of the owner, and had convinced him to dig out the karaoke machine and plug it in. Now John was going to get Sherlock onstage.

“Sherlock, look, it’s a bomb!” John pointed to the cumbersome machine, a microphone lying innocently on top. “You’re a genius- go and see if you can disable it!”

He shoved Sherlock towards the thing, and waited.

Sherlock squinted down at the collection of items before him.

Bloody…he was staring at a karaoke machine! He wasn’t going to sing!

“SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK!” The doctor fed the crowd a chant, and they roared at the lone man in front of them.

He sighed. _Mob mentality…_

After browsing through the selections, he narrowed his eyes at the screen, trying to read the bright words- _why are the letters moving?_

_Blimey_ , Sherlock! John didn’t know he could sing so well! His deep voice rose and fell, and the floor was shaking with the wild spasmodic movements defined as dancing.

The crowd went insane after Sherlock’s drunk, but rousing rendition of Dancing Queen. He bowed several times, hair flopping up and down, and then collapsed in a tangle of thin limbs.

The consulting detective woke the next day with a thumping in his head and the lyrics to Dancing Queen ringing shrilly in his ears.

 

**I’ll make you beg for mercy…twice.**

John was straddling Sherlock’s waist, his fingers on the pinned man’s abdomen.

The victim was struggling, shrieking, and bucking his hips in attempts to throw the heavier man off.

John grinned evilly, and proceeded to tickle Sherlock’s sensitive sides.

“Please, John! Stop!”

“ _Please!”_

The doctor got off and strode away, smirking.

“That’ll teach you not to touch my strawberry jam.”

 

**We’re doing the laundry, Mrs. Hudson.**

Sherlock snuck into John’s room while he was taking a shower(singing horribly off-key, too), and stuffed all his clothes into a sack.

John discovered this soon afterwards, and with an ear- piercing squeal, decided to get revenge. He retaliated a few hours later, when Sherlock was taking a bubble bath (John “accidentally” dumped a whole can of tomato sauce on the detective), and took all of _his_ clothes.

This was why the men were wandering the flat with towels slung about their hips.

They hid in their rooms for the rest of the day, after Mrs. Hudson walked in (to clear out the fridge), and ran out screaming when she saw the two completely naked and slapping at each other angrily with their towels.

The duo only wandered out the next day, when their laundry was done and delivered to the door, with a note: _Boys, if you’re going to go about enjoying your relationship (don’t worry, there’s all sorts around here), then you’ll have to do it with the door locked and inside your bedrooms!_

Mrs. Hudson saw neither hide nor hair of them for a week.

 

**We’re heterosexual life partners, Angelo.**

John tried to shoo away the candle as it was deposited by the large, bearded man. He walked away with a wink and his usual “Dinner’s on the house for you and your date, Sherlock!” while John moaned despairingly into his hands.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“He thinks we’re _dating_ , Sherlock! Tell him we aren’t!”

Sherlock blinked and looked down at his menu.

When Angelo came to deliver their meal, he stage- whispered to John: _You two make a good couple- take care of Sherlock, yeah?._

Sherlock smiled winningly at the friendly man, and thanked him.

John spluttered indignantly, and Sherlock peacefully sipped at his drink.

 

**For the last time, Angelo, we’re not gay.**

Sherlock stared hungrily at John’s plate of spaghetti. John, noticing, decided to offer him some. “Would you like a bite, Sherlock? You seem hungry- there’s too much on my plate, anyway.”

Sherlock gave a tentative nod.

John gathered some spaghetti on his fork and reaching across the table lifted it to Sherlock’s mouth.

The other man parted his lips obediently, and the fork was pushed gently into his mouth.

Angelo walked in on this scene right as the fork was poised before Sherlock’s face. He grinned knowingly, and with a conspicuous wink, sauntered away.

“ _For the last time-we’re not a couple!”_

He turned to Sherlock, who was chewing contentedly on his mouthful of food, then looked down at the utensil, gleaming cheerfully in his hand.

_Oh god. They were a couple._

**You look beautiful, Sherlock.**

Sherlock was gliding through the ballroom, scanning the crowd for the suspect. He silently cursed at the train of his deep purple ball gown, and, not for the last time, John.

They were undercover at a party, dressed for their parts. John was Mr. Watson, and Sherlock was Mrs. Watson.

He was flabbergasted when a tall, striking, dark haired beauty appeared in his doorway, draped in purple silk, with luminescent skin and pale eyes. The stranger flung some clothing at his face. Then she spoke in a deep baritone.

“Stop gawking, John, and put on your suit. We’re going to a party.”

All throughout the car ride, he was staring at Sherlock, awestruck at how skilled the man was at disguises. His necklace managed to cover his Adam’s apple, and fake breasts were attached to his chest.

“Alright, John, here’s our story. You and I are old friends of the host from uni- I won’t speak because I’m sick (not talking should hide my deep voice). You create a distraction and I sneak up behind our suspect and disable him. Got that?”

“Why are you a woman?”

“He’ll be looking for two men. If we go as a couple, then he won’t suspect a thing- he knows my name, but he doesn’t know yours. You’re too muscular and… _manly_ to be a woman- therefore, I’m the best choice. Now stop staring at my chest!”

 

The couple was dancing, weaving elegantly through the other pairs. John didn’t know Sherlock could dance. He was surprised at himself for remembering the waltz- it had been so long…

Sherlock was looking down at him with those unfathomable eyes, green and grey and pale blue.

“You make a pretty convincing woman _, Sherly_.”

‘Sherly’ blushed maidenly, and stomped on his toes.

 


End file.
